


Magnetic

by sadlittlepeachesandplums



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Episode Spoilers, Getting Together, M/M, Post 3x04, assuming q touches the key after they find out about penny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 10:21:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13545342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlittlepeachesandplums/pseuds/sadlittlepeachesandplums
Summary: “Did you see anything?” Eliot finally asks, leaning his head back against the headboard and turning to look at him.“Huh?” Quentin blinks away memories, returning the look.“When you touched the key. Other than Penny.” He shrugs a shoulder, “You said it makes you see the truth.”God, did he see anything?How does he say, Yeah. You were shimmering gold and ever since all I can do is feel your lips on my skin, and your fingers in my hair. All I can see is you, Eliot. Jesus Christ I was so blind before—“Not really,” he says instead, swallowing thick. “Just Penny.”





	Magnetic

 

 

“So,” Quentin starts, leaning in the door frame, looking in on an Eliot who’s finally alone, and somehow lying in Quentin’s bed.

Eliot looks up, frowning, “I can’t believe they _gave my room away_. To Todd of all people!”

Quentin chuckles, “Just give it some time. When magic comes back Todd’s room will reappear and you’ll have your room back.” He moves into the room, wringing his hands together. Part of him is unsure how to act around Eliot anymore. They’re the same, but it’s been so long, and he’s missed him so much that having him here... just. Feels weird.

Right, but so weird.

“I’ll have to set that bed on fire and get a new one,” Eliot murmurs, leaning back against Quentin’s headboard.

Speaking of things that feel right but so weird... 

Eliots in Quentin’s bed.

His skin goes warm as a flash of the last time they were here passes through him. The feel of soft warmth against his lips, heat all around, tugs at his hair... 

“I suppose.” Eliot glances down at his lap, “It is nice that I finally get a moment to myself, though.”

Quentin’s heart plummets as he stops in place, “Oh,” he says, nodding erratically, “Right. I—I’ll go—“ he starts to turn around, something heavy in his chest, but Eliot sits up straighter. 

“What? Why?”

“You said—“ 

“Q,” Eliot says, slow like he wants to make absolute certain Quentin can’t misunderstand him, “When I say I want to be alone—that doesn’t include you.” He makes a face, eyes widening a fraction as his chin tilts downward, “Sit down.”

Quentins breath hitches, but he hesitates, and Eliot huffs, patting the place on the bed next to him, “Honestly, Q, I’ve had an incredibly trying past few days so if you don’t sit down I may actually resort to violence.”

His eyes dart down to where Eliot’s hand is on the bed, and imagines those hands are back in his hair, ghosting along the back of his neck or holding fierce, and nods, shaking the thought away as he plops down on the bed next to him.

“Good boy.”

They’re silent for a few long minutes. It’s nice. Quentin can feel the heat radiating off of Eliot’s in the places they’re closest— their thighs and arms are barely an inch apart. It’s practically electric.

“Did you see anything?” Eliot finally asks, leaning his head back against the headboard and turning to look at him.

“Huh?” Quentin blinks away memories, returning the look.

“When you touched the key. Other than Penny.” He shrugs a shoulder, “You said it makes you see the truth.”

God, did he see anything? 

How does he say,  _Yeah. You were shimmering gold and ever since all I can do is feel your lips on my skin, and your fingers in my hair. All I can see is you, Eliot. Jesus Christ I was so blind before_ — 

“Not really,” he says instead, swallowing thick. “Just Penny.”

Eliot hums thoughtfully. 

“What?” Eliot doesn’t respond, so Quentin twists around to face him. “Did you see something other than Penny?”

“I would have said so if I had.”

“No you wouldn’t.” 

The corners of his mouth quirk up as he nods, “That’s fair.” He looks down at Quentin’s hands, “Are we going to be honest with each other for once, Q?”

Quentin’s breath hitches again as he follows Eliot’s gaze. “Aren’t we always?”

 “Maybe on the surface. But no, not really.” He glances back up from beneath his eyelashes, “Not about the important shit.” His hand inches forward, and Quentin wants to leave his there just to feel Eliot’s touch again but he finds himself pulling away and standing up. 

“That’s not—we don’t keep anything—I’m—that’s ridiculous, El,” he paces at the side of the bed as he stutters, “We—you’re the only person that I—“ he falters, face falling as he focuses in on Eliot again, “I fucking  _missed_  you.”

Eliot tilts his head before sighing, something tells Quentin he’s disappointed in him, and nodding, “I missed you, too. Which is why you need to sit back down, so we can spoon like the grown ass men we are.” Quentin opens his mouth but Eliot raises a hand, “And before you ask—I’m the small spoon. I  _was_  chased by cannibals and almost killed by pirates. I need some good spooning action.”

“Don’t you want to—“

“Spoon? Yes, absolutely.”

“But—“ 

“Quentin.”

 There’s something about him using his full name that has Quentin moving without another word and climbing back into the bed. He doesn’t miss Eliot’s small smile as they adjust until Eliot’s lying with his back against Quentin’s chest. He reaches back and pulls Quentin’s arm around his waist.

 There’s a moment after they settle. Where Quentin thinks, this is it. This is where he belongs. Maybe Alice is right about magic, they don’t need it. It is what keeps separating them. It’s like the universe has something against him and Eliot being in the same room. But without Magic...

 Without Magic Eliot wouldn’t be forced to stay in Fillory. They could just be in each other’s lives—

—except for the fact that Eliot feels a duty to his people in Fillory and as selfish as Quentin can be, he can’t take that from him. Can’t take away the thing that gives Eliot purpose.

“Jesus, Q,” Eliot grumbles, “I can practically hear you thinking.”

“Sorry.”

Eliot sighs, again, and adjusts until he’s spinning around to look at Quentin. His own arm slides over Quentin’s waist, and he’s eye level with him, head resting on the pillow opposite Quentin.

 “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

 Eliot pinches the skin on his hip. “We’ve been separated for I don’t even care to know how long, Q. Don’t lie to me. Some lies I’ll take because I know—“ he shakes his head, “Just. Don’t lie to me.” 

“I’m... thinking about if we just. Don’t get magic back.”

 Eliot quirks an eyebrow, “Really? You love magic.” 

“I do. But it—“ he closes his eyes, can barely handle looking into the familiar brown across from him anymore, “It has a—a habit. Of taking the things I care the—the most for.”

 The hand on his hip flattens, rubs at the skin revealed by Quentin’s shirt hiking up. “Q...”

He takes a leap and opens his eyes. “Magic constantly—it’s like we’re the kind of magnets that aren’t allowed to touch, sometimes.”

“You consider me—“ 

“Don’t be an idiot.” Hurt clashes behind Eliots eyes but Quentin barrels on before he can pull away, “ _Yes. Obviously_.”

Eliots quiet for a long moment and Quentin’s sure he’s somehow already fucked this up and he’s only had him back for a few hours, but then he’s closing his eyes. “Q,” he says, soft, in a very un-Eliot way, “What did you see when you touched the key?”

“I told you—“

“Q, it’s okay,” he breathes it out like it’s taking everything in him not to scream, and opens his eyes. His hand slides up Quentin’s side, over his arm, until it’s gliding into the nape of Quentin’s neck. His thumb grazes against the vein there, and Quentin’s whole body freezes as he closes his eyes just to feel the touch. “It’s  _okay_.” 

“El...” 

“Do you know how furious I was?” Eliot asks, “When they told me about the messenger rabbits? I could have sent word to you that I was okay—we could have had a way to talk this whole time. I could have known  _you_  were okay.”

Quentin swallows, opening his eyes. “I—“

“Nope. This is another tale—I’ll call this one... Eliot Touched the Truth Key and Saw What He Already Knew.” He raises an eyebrow, “Good? Saving questions for the end?” Quentin nods. “Good.” He pauses, taking a moment to just look at Quentin, his eyes going soft as they look him over. “It’s still there,” he murmurs, “Not completely, obviously. But it’s—“ he pauses again. “I’m going to say something that’s going to implode our friendship.”

 Fuck.

 “Please don’t—“

“Why not?”

“What?”

He shuffles closer, “Why not?” He repeats the question, slower.

“I thought you were telling—“

“This one we both know the ending so there’s no point. I like a captive audience. Not one ignoring my story.” He smiles, “You know I love the attention.”

“El...”

 “I love you.” He shrugs a shoulder as Quentin closes his eyes. “You know that. Everyone with half a brain knows that. The margolem that you obliterated knows that.” He pauses, waiting for Quentin to open his eyes. “Q.”

 Quentin’s heart pounds in his chest like a fucking jackhammer as he opens his eyes again.

 Eliot offers a small smile, leaning in until he’s a breath away from Quentin’s face. His hand moves around towards the back of his neck, gripping it tight and warmth shoots down Quentin’s spine. “When I touched the key, I just saw you for a minute. Standing all by yourself just— _staring_  at me. Watching me. And cliche—because what magic isn’t fucking cliche these days—as it is, you were... how do I put this without sounding absolutely ridiculous?”

“Gold?”

Eliot starts, eyebrows furrowing as he pulls away a little. “Now how would you know that if you didn’t see anything?”

“A—a hunch?”

“Q.” He sighs, pulling away and Quentin nearly  _weeps_  as he takes all the warmth with him, “What the fuck are you so scared of?”

Quentin bites down on his lower lip as Eliot pulls himself up to sit against the headboard and stare down at him. “Because—I,” His jaw trembles, “I don’t—I cant—it—I’m a fuck up, El—“

Eliot scoffs, “Join the club, Q. I’ve got a plaque for all my fuck ups.”

“Every...  _relationship_ —I can’t risk...” He trails off, turning to look up at him. Why is this so hard? Why can’t he just say—“I can’t risk losing you.”

Oh.

Eliot seems frozen for a moment before he’s leaning down, hand coming back to the back of Quentin’s neck. “Q,” he murmurs, “I’m like a very fine wine. You can drink me up til I’m gone, but there’s going to be another, very expensive, very beautiful bottle tucked away somewhere.”

“Wine runs out—that. That’s a terrible analogy.”

“You come up with something better, then. As you know, I’ve been through a lot the last few days. Excuse me if I’m not poetic about telling you that no matter how much you fuck up I’m not going anywhere.” He pauses, pensive, “Actually, no. That works.” He takes a deep breath and continues, “You’ve had your fair share of... bad decisions. But I haven’t walked away, yet. Have I?”

“No, but—“

“In fact, I distinctly remember becoming a reigning monarch to help you defeat the beast.”

“—Wait, that was—“

“And, that somehow turned out being one of the best things I could’ve done.” He pauses, “By some weird ridiculous, miraculous twist.” 

“I—“

He shakes his head, “Q,” he murmurs, shuffling back down onto the bed and lying down to face him, “Do you love me?”

“When did you stop being afraid of your feelings?”

Eliot scoffs, reaching in between them to grab at one of his hands, “I wish,” he mutters as he brings it up to his chest and holding Quentin’s hand above where his heart is, “I’m on the verge of a heart attack. But we need to have this conversation. I’ve got a fairy queen being an absolute twat wagon, a best friend lost in Fillory, a fully grown daughter—“

“Yeah what is that even—“

“A whole ‘nother beast entirely, Q. What I’m saying is I’ve got a lot of shit on my royal plate, but this comes first. You come first. Even when it doesn’t seem like it... you’re at the top of my to do list. Literally and figuratively.”

Quentin snorts out a laugh and pulls himself in closer to Eliot. 

“Q.”

“You know I do,” he breathes, the words barely audible. But Eliot hears them, Quentin knows he does, because the fingers on his neck flex for a second and then Eliot’s hauling him in again, and Quentin’s tucking his chin in he nap of Eliot’s neck. “I think—you’ve known longer than I have.”

Eliot chuckles into Quentin’s hair, “Q, I’ve known from the moment I saw you stumble onto the grass that first day that you’d fall in love with me.” 

“Hey—!”

Eliot pulls away, just enough to smile down at him. “What? I’m a catch.”

Quentin’s stomach flutters as he rolls his eyes. God, it’s so surreal having him here. Holding and being held by him. Finally saying what’s been there, beneath the feelings for Alice, and the fear and fight or flight instincts. Admitting it and having it.

Jesus Christ. All it took was magic disappearing.

He’s about to respond, but Eliot leans, the small space between them dissipating as his lips brush against Quentin’s. 

And fuck, it feels like Quentin’s on fire, the way his whole body ignites with the kiss.

God, he’s missed him.

Eliot pulls away first, pressing his forehead to Quentin’s, “God, I’ve missed you,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut.

 Quentin smiles his first real smile in months and pushes forward to kiss him again.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop. And if the soft, appreciate mewling that comes from Eliot at the contact is anything to go by—he doesn’t think Eliot’ll ever be able to, either.


End file.
